The School Reunion
by DIsForDiabeetus
Summary: When Shadow, a promising young hitman is assingned a target with whom he shares a troubled past, he begins to question the moral integrity of the unlawful world that employs him.


A subtle trembling in his left pocket woke Shadow from the beguiling stupor he had yet again fallen prey to as he raised his unkempt jaw to the nocturnal glow of the streetlights and plunged his now frigid hand into his coat. Removing it, he clutched a scarred and time worn Nokia Brick; cheap, reliable and most importantly, easy to destroy, they truly were the linchpin of any respectable contract killer. He opened the text:

MILES 'TAILS' PROWER

70 BOWMAN ST.

£10,000

TONIGHT

FURTHER DETAILS WILL BE PROVIDED

The details could have been more thorough, but besides that, it was just another job. Another paycheck, and a hefty one at that. He opened the car door and slumped into the frayed leather seat; dark as a sullen cloud before the sun and rife with what he hoped were coffee stains. Bowman Street was but a brisk 5 minute drive away. That name though, Tails, there was something deeply familiar about it, yet he just couldn't recall what. He brushed it aside apathetically. In a world like this, you were bound to run into some familiar faces, whether the circumstances were good or bad. But he tried not to think about his targets, and their families, and their jobs, and their lives, instead choosing to see them for what they truly were to him: targets, salary, money in the bank. He was simply providing a service, as a bartender would, or a doctor, or anybody else trying to make a decent living in this world by doing what they excelled at. He felt another text arrive, and opened his phone to be met with a poor resolution photo of the target. Suddenly, the name Tails seemed all the more familiar.

It was the eyes that made him. An icy azure, never void of a volatile, primal sense of determination, unmistakeably those of Tails the Fox; honour roll, excelled at everything he ever attempted, undoubtedly destined to surpass every one of his peers in every way imaginable, the kind of insufferable wretch who made you want to shoot yourself in the head. They had shared their final years of education together some ten years ago, and despite the addition of a rather brash field of stubble, he was nevertheless as abhorrently recognisable as ever. He was probably wanted dead as part of some shrewd political scheme. He'd always wanted the world to know his name, even if it would be his downfall.

Shadow arrived at the building, the ashen, monochrome streets irradiated by the tangerine luminance of the lights above. Stalking round to the rear of the vehicle, he opened the boot to reveal his tool of choice for the art of bursting skulls. A bolt-action Accuracy International AWM, custom fitted with a high quality scope and suppressor, the perfect killing machine. He made his way up to the vantage point and secured his rifle at the window. He found himself overlooking a desolate park square, unarguably beautiful in its reticent splendour. The scene was practically deserted, save for a scarce slew of vagrants, all otherwise indistinguishable under their abundance of bedraggled fur. All except…

Again, it was the eyes that made him. That same glacial shade of blue, yet now wholly devoid of any sense of tenacity that once defined him. Worse still, his unshaven face ran rampant with pools of dried blood and bruises, memoirs of unpaid debt and gloved fists. He wasn't part of any plot, he most likely just owed a hefty sum of money, bit off more than he could chew. His death would serve as nothing but a warning to others in his position. Shadow's eyes welled up and his hands began to tremble, yet his cross-hairs remained unmoving, poised between the targets cold, lifeless eyes. As if to challenge his assailant's cowardice, the target abruptly reached into his pocket, revealed a small handgun, aimed it at the roof of his mouth, and pulled the trigger with a single, emaciated finger. A vibrant mess of blood and viscera now stained the otherwise lifeless pavement. Shadow fell away from the window, collapsing into the forlorn corner of the room. His eyes and soul thrived in tears and regret as he felt a sickening bile rise deep in his throat. His pocket vibrated once again.

IS IT DONE?

He peered out the window. The body lay motionless, expressionless, crowned with a halo of crimson gore.

IT'S DONE


End file.
